A stack of papers,
A compendium of all the memories from my past.
As i look at my old journal now, i try to remember the exact time when i stopped keeping one.
It saddens me,
to realize that I failed to prevent the death of a hobby that once gave me so much comfort.
I was never expressive, nor did I ever seek
comfort in the consolations of others.
But scribbling down haphazard words...